


Sir Dean the Valient

by Baylor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baylor/pseuds/Baylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, demon-hunter and savior of lost kittens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sir Dean the Valient

“I can’t believe that falling beam missed you,” Sam said. “I thought it was going to bean your brains out.”

Dean shrugged, and then checked inside the blood-covered hand towel. 

“Still bleeding?” Sam asked.

“A little,” Dean said.

“And then the way that bog gas caught fire,” Sam said a little while later. “I thought you were going up like the Human Torch.” 

Dean smiled at the woman behind the desk and held up his hand, wrapped in the bloodied towel. “Gonna need a doctor,” he said. He didn’t answer Sam.

“And that crazy old farmer shooting at us,” Sam said while they were waiting in chairs. “I think that one shot clipped your hair for you, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said noncommittally, flipping through a magazine with his good hand.

“Not to mention the ghoul,” Sam said, perched on the doctor’s stool in the exam room. “That thing thought your throat looked juicy and tender, for sure.”

Dean just sighed.

“So what’s going on here?” the nurse asked shortly after, unwrapping Dean’s hand from the towel.

“I was bit by a cat,” Dean said.

“A kitten,” Sam volunteered. 

Dean cut him a sideways look with his eyes. “It was a cat,” he told the nurse.

Behind him, Sam measured out the minute size of the kitten with his hands. The nurse’s mouth twitched.

“Maybe they’ll give you a rabies shot,” Sam said after she left. “In your stomach.”

“It didn’t have rabies, Sam,” Dean said in a voice of long-suffering. 

“Look at that, it’s all the way through,” the doctor said later, looking closely at Dean’s pinky finger. “Well, we can’t stitch it. Cat bites get infected too easily. Keep it clean and dry - we’ll load you up with antibiotics.”

“Stop rubbing, you’ll make it worse,” Sam said as he let them into the motel room.

Dean automatically stopped rubbing at his butt. 

“It was just one little shot,” Sam added, and Dean gave him a black look. 

“So, you missed the beam. Avoided the fire.” Sprawled out on his back in bed, Sam ticked off the list with his fingers. “Evaded the gunshot. Fought off the throat-ripping ghoul.”

In the other bed, Dean did not open his eyes, his bandaged finger resting on top of his other hand on his chest.

“And then,” Sam said, with more than a little relish, “you were attacked and injured by a wee little baby kitten.”

“Dude,” Dean said abruptly, sitting up with ire. “Did you see that poor thing? It was starving, man! And, like, crying to me to come and help it.”

“You fed it beef jerky, Dean,” Sam said. 

“It liked the beef jerky!” Dean objected.

“Maybe not,” Sam said. “Maybe that’s why it bit you.”

“It was just scared, Sam,” Dean said, and laid back down in a huff. “I guess you and your heart of stone don’t care about that.”

Sam didn’t bother to hide his smile, or the affection in his voice. “Dean Winchester, demon-hunter and savior of lost kittens.”

Dean moaned and pulled a pillow over his face. Sam grinned and reached for the light.

“Good night, Sir Dean the Valiant, protector of the lost and hungry,” he said.

“Good night, Sammy,” Dean said from under the pillow. 

Sam shut off the light.


End file.
